Excerpts From the War for Selvi
by Ezebial
Summary: Follow the Imperial Guard, the forces of Chaos and even others as they all vie for ownership of a world of little value to anyone. Just another day in the Imperium. Drama and dark humor will follow.
1. Chapter 1

The men were weary, they were tired, and they were hungry. By the throne they wanted to go home already. Their ammo was spent and their commander was flayed and presented upon the banners of the heretics they battled. A small group of guardsmen took shelter behind a wasted Lemun Russ, hoping, praying the God Emperor would save them.

Dirk, little more than just another gun placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of his cowering companion. "Come on now. If the commissar saw us like this do you think he'd be merciful?" He tried to urge his allies out of their fear but the booming of nearby artillery fire saw even himself flinching low.

"I'm pretty sure Commissar Kinard is dead too," a man argued. "I'm staying here until the fire stops and we can return to camp. If that makes me a traitor than execute me here." Dirk's gaze lowered darkly at the man for a moment as he considered the option.

"If you want to die then die taking them with you!" he shouted and peeked his head out beyond the relative safety of the tank's shell. One, two, he ducked back into cover narrowly avoiding las fire. "I counted three more men in the trenches. I am going to make a run to support them, so cover me!"

The argumentative man reluctantly grabbed his laspistol and pulled another guardsman, a young woman who had been nursing a wound on her side, to her feet. "Alright, I'll cover you, but you'd better cover us after."

Dirk looked at the laspistol and then the wounded woman. Was this really all they were reduced to? What was the point of continuing the assault then? He shook the thoughts away from his mind. "Right! Our last orders were to drive out the filth and take the cathedral for further fortifications! If comms weren't jammed, maybe, just maybe we could rally everyone together! So keep an eye out for the jamming device!" He was ordering a mere four men, two of which her so near death's door he simply ignored them altogether.

As dirk found the briefest of breaks in the firefight he rushed out of cover in a dead sprint. The scared man was firing into the horde of opponents on the other side of the battlefield blindly. He cared less for hitting his enemies, and more for presence. He was nearing the trench just as a frag grenade landed mere feet from him. He leaped terrified away from it as it exploded peppering his back with shrapnel. By sheer miracle the shards punctured his flak armor but never his flesh and he safely slid into the trench falling into the hole with a harsh thud.

"Are you crazy!?" one of the trench fighters demanded of him. "Never mind that now! Take this gun and start shooting!" A lasercarbine with bloodied stains was thrust into his arms. Dirk dared not think on the previous owner's fate. May it bring him better fortune.

Looking back at those he promised to aid he prepared to begin firing when an artillery shell crashed down upon their placement. The blast incinerated all but the woman who was knocked forward into the open field. She had barely a moment to stand before her body was torn to shreds under intense fire. Dirk staggered back in horror before shouting drew him back to reality.

Overhead aircraft could be seen flying and firing down into the numbers of heretics. Aid had arrived at last, this was their chance. "C'mon!" Dirk pulled himself from the trench and began to charge the cathedral. As he ran half a dozen Aquila Lander's zoomed overhead and other guardsmen charged forward alongside him. The enemy was being forced to fall back as guardsmen of an unknown regiment to Dirk began to leap out parachuting into the chaos below. Elated with joy his voice rang out with a strong "For the Emperor!" and he was met with a fervent echo by many.

"The objective is clear of all hostile units and ready to be fortified Sir." A young woman addressed her commissar before he motioned her off to other tasks with a wave of his hand.

Looking over his bolt pistol he silently began to load and unload it repeatedly. Beside him was a captive restrained by two men. The heretic looked nervous as his eyes darted around the building. "Now, I will ask you a simple question and I want a simple answer. If I decide I don't like your answer or you avoid answering I will make you suffer a very long time before your execution." He turned his head slightly to take a good look. His green eyes fell upon a pitiful excuse for a man: he was emaciated and hardly clothed. "Your people rebelled and further still turned to false idols because you were suffering a lack of your needs being fulfilled?"

The traitor stared at the ground as he spoke in defiance. "Our people have been starving, the earth has been drained of mineral resources, and few are the places able to grow food anymore. In the arms of Chaos we were given hope." He cried out in sudden pain as his leg was ripped apart by bolt fire. "I-I told you the truth!" he pleaded.

"I believe you worm." The commissar began, "But I did say if I don't like your answer, you will suffer, did I not?" His eyes were a merciless pit of uncaring green. "You still lived and yet you have the audacity to claim the Emperor did not provide!? You are a greedy sort!" He raised his pistol to the other leg now ignoring the pained whimpering of the heretic. "Next question. Who is the leader of your pathetic force?"

"No! I will not betray her with such a thing!" His other leg was splintered open his own blood pooling around him. He surely would die in a moment even without any direct involvement.

"You already have," the man laughed. "So it is a she then? I think I am done with you, but you have offered me a great line of questioning for your fellows." With a nod to the guards they delivered a killing blow to his head. Now, where would he set up his office and have for lunch? "I want this body burned and the building fortified by nightfall," the commissar ordered and began to search the building. A place with a view would be nice.

"Yes Sir!" they replied dragging the body away. Passing a new recruit one of the two ordered them to clean up the blood, Tilman's orders.


	2. Chapter 2: A New Role

"You are the last remaining member of the Drovan Storm Fleet that is an NCO or higher, unfortunately." Commissar Tilman sipped from his cup of recaffe as he looked the rugged man over. "Sergeant Cruz was it?"

"Yes Sir!"

"As there are only you and twelve others left you will be absorbed into our regiment, The Freyar Valkyries." Setting his cup onto a small saucer and the saucer onto a 'desk' made of scrap metal he looked expectantly at the young guardsman.

"I understand the decision sir, but to dissolve us entirely, that will damage the mens' morale and we aren't exactly paratroopers." Dirk spoke honestly from his previous experiences.

"Well, I say absorb you but we do not intend to make this a permanent arrangement. As soon as more men are available to you from the Drovan ships, you will return to your normal standards. For now, you will be the commander of your regiment, or platoon if you prefer, congratulations Lieutenant." Commissar Tilman stood and offered the newly promoted Lieutenant a black gloved hand.

Dirk stared in disbelief, not only was this highly informal and against regular protocol but Lieutenant? This was a huge promotion, would he even be capable of leading the men, no matter how few? His hesitation began to wear on the commissar as his face began to visibly misshape into a frown quickly approaching a scowl. "Excuse me Sir," apologizing Dirk took his hand and shook firmly before spitting on the ground behind him.

Retracting his hand Tilman's face showed one of pure disgust, "What, was that Lieutenant?"

"A tradition in my regiment, upon promotion it is customary to spit behind oneself to bid farewell to the you of old."

"Would that not be seen as disrespect to those of a lesser grade?" the commissar's brow was raised.

"Not at all! It is the lesser you of old you spit on, not the rank."

Nodding his head slowly he accepted that they had quite the different culture. "Well, Cruz, do see to it that this," he searched his mind for the right words a moment, "does not persist when indoors. Or in my working and living space. It would be splendid." He followed this by handing Dirk the Drovan shoulder plate signifying an officer.

Its colors were faded and it showed a clear blast mark caused by what Dirk assumed to have been las fire, but it was still usable. "Who's was this?" he asked solemnly.

"No idea," Tilman shrugged, "The corpse was too badly torn apart. The cultists are rather vicious in close combat."

"I see."

"You look upset."

"I'd be lying if I said I was happy about this."

"You're in command now, emotions are something you must never show. It is all a game now; and you have to be the best player on the field, aside from myself of course."

"Yes sir."

Tilman stepped out from behind his desk with a sigh. "You and I will be relatively equal now, but, you still answer and report to me. Until tomorrow you have my permission to rest, your whole platoon does. You ought to offer them some words actually." Patting him hard on the shoulder he ushered the new Lieutenant out.

A ruined shoulder plate, a bloodstained carbine, and a mere twelve men under his command. The Storm Fleet was nothing anymore and he knew it. His jaw tightened as his walk turned into a brisk pace. All around him members of the Valkyries rushed to and fro working on this and that, a familiar sight with unfamiliar faces. His grip tightened around the plate in his hand turning the knuckles white and his fingers red.

It was at this moment he wished he could see his brothers again. His older brother had fallen some time back, was on the receiving end of an ork 'choppa' as the greenskins called them. And his younger brother? Oh throne who knew where he was. After an odd woman was seen in camp he was whisked away with honors the same night. Some claimed it was the inquisition and until then Dirk was convinced they were just a story.

Exiting the cathedral he was met with foul air, if the inside was stuffy it was downright putrid here. The smell of battle lingered, a smell of blood and sulfur. Meandering about the ruined courtyard he eventually spotted a small group of guardsmen in his same style. It hurt to see so few but he smiled. Having strapped the new plate on now, his approach prompted all of them to stand together saluting and greeting him.

"At ease, at ease." He looked them over. They were an, assortment of characters indeed, one of them still a child. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to carry a carbine," the boy boasted prideful. "And survive to boot!"

A twinge of anger heated Dirk's chest. Did this brat not feel anything for the fallen? Then he calmed, the boy was raised on the ships between fights, this was his whole life already. "I suppose you are."

Glancing over the rest he decided to learn their names later. "I don't recognize any of you regrettably, but today forward you will refer to me at Lieutenant Cruz. The Storm Fleet Regiment is thirteen men strong now, and so we will be working closely with the Frejar Valkyries; acting as a specialized team."

"Cool, special ops." Spoke the boy. "Oh, L.T. names, Private Dodd, remember it for when you give me medals."

Sparing Cruz from having to speak to the boy further another guardsman covered his mouth and pulled him back. "Sorry about him there Boss-Man. He's a bit of a runt with a complex. I'll take care of him sir, and keep him out of your hair." The guardsman gave a large toothy smile. After Cruz continued to stare expectantly at the guardsman she spoke up further, a tad red. "The name's Private Houser, Boss-Man, and the best damn sniper short of a ratling on a clear day."

He knew the disregard for formality would be frowned upon but at the time he did not care, instead he smiled. "Well, Houser, I hope to see the truth of that. The other regiment over there specialize in the longlas; stiff competition." He could have sworn he saw a glimmer of a one-sided rivalry being born.

"Presently we have no further orders. After the intense and, unexpected, retaliation by the heretics command is in the process of planning. For now you all should rest up and meet at 0500 sharp. I refuse to be shown up by a regiment that calls themselves Valkyrie, or any regiment for that matter."

"Yes Sir," Came almost all unanimously from the soldiers, from all but one. Boss-Man he was certain he heard.


End file.
